


left your taste in my mouth, all your words in my head

by squash1



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Bickering, Fluff, M/M, Nicknames, Post-Canon, The Great 'Ronan and Adam Don't Call Each Other Cutesy Names' Debacle of April 2019, pre-opal short story, to which i just have to say: you can pry 'ro' from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 19:05:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18629413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squash1/pseuds/squash1
Summary: Ronan wonders if the shortening of his name was intentional or simply born out of Adam’s breathlessness. Before he has a chance to dwell on this thought, a burst of laughter bubbles out of Adam’s mouth.(Or: HowRocame to be.)





	left your taste in my mouth, all your words in my head

**Author's Note:**

> This is for [Deja](http://disasterbiadamparrish.tumblr.com), who is just as enthusiastic about the idea of Pynch + pet names as I am. 
> 
> Massive thanks go to [Marley](http://magicalmechanic.tumblr.com) and [Felix](http://felixjimmyadam.tumblr.com) for beta-reading this thing!

The hour is late and the dark has long leapt over the Blue Ridge Mountains when Ronan returns to St Agnes. The knob on the door to Adam’s small apartment turns with a soft clicking, and Ronan walks through the door with the apprehension he assumes all boyfriends of overzealous scholars have when arriving home at this time of night. After all, nerds need plenty of peace and quiet. At least that’s what Adam tells him, phrased a smidge differently, whenever Ronan all but kicks in the door and stomps around in a _You’re gonna pay attention to me whether you like it or not_ kind of way.

The apartment is quiet and dimly lit, and surprisingly chilly. The small window above Adam’s bed is cracked wide open. Underneath it sits the big nerd himself, stacks of printed papers and text books strewn all over the mattress and a notepad in his lap. Seemingly caught up in an important thought, Adam does not look up. Instead, he pats his hand lightly on the threadbare sheets, beckoning Ronan to sit down.

So, Ronan closes the door behind him, locks up, slips off his boots by the door. He refrains from shrugging off his jacket as of yet, insecurity sneaking its way into the pit of his stomach. He does not want to disturb Adam, not at this late of an hour, does not want to deter him from his studies during such a stressfully important time during the semester. For a moment, Ronan contemplates trotting down the stairs into the church to yearn for Adam from a safe distance.

“Ronan?” Adam rasps, voice thin from a day of quiet, lonely work. They have not seen each other since the night before, when Ronan dropped him off at St Agnes so that Adam would not have to bike all the way into town for his morning shift at the factory.

Adam moves some of the books onto the floor and gestures an elegant hand towards the mattress again. Ronan caves.

He has missed Adam all day, the restlessness within his heart never once stilling despite the laughter and adrenaline he frolicked in with his brother. There is no way he can bring himself to say no to this now, to be stubborn for the sake of Adam’s Physics final at the end of the week. Because _fuck Physics_.

Ronan launches himself onto the mattress.

There is no holding back when Ronan falls to his knees between Adam’s, not an ounce of self-restraint left within him when Adam finally drops his pencil and snakes his arms around Ronan’s shoulders. The sound of his calloused fingers against the leather cladding Ronan’s shoulders is almost abrasive in Ronan’s ears, but he has neither time nor willingness to complain. Instead, he puts his mouth to better use and kisses Adam, head tilting slightly for a more precise angle. The paint on the wall behind Adam feels chalky beneath Ronan’s palm, but the soft hum from Adam’s throat makes him forget quickly about this sensation.

When they part, both breathless, Adam tilts his head back until it thumps against the wall next to Ronan’s hand. Although his eyes are closed, his lips stretch into a gentle smile, teeth digging into his bottom lip to reign in the corners of his mouth. Ronan studies the curve of Adam’s cupid’s bow and the slight dimpling of his cheeks, notes the faint hue of stubble under Adam’s left nostril that he must have missed in the early hours of the morning.

“What?” Adam asks softly, and Ronan’s eyes dart upwards to meet his half-lidded gaze.

“Nothing,” he replies, barely above a whisper. “Just…,” he starts but trails off, thoughts losing themselves among the blue of Adam’s eyes, striking and deep azure in the faint yellow light.

Cool fingertips slip past the worn crew collar of Ronan’s shirt, dipping past several cervical vertebrae (a term Ronan has learned from hours of listening to Adam revise for a Biology test) and arriving at his tattoo, skirting what Ronan assumes to be its spiky edges in slow, recumbent eights.

Suddenly and in spite of the brisk spring evening waving in through the window, Ronan feels very heated in his heavy jacket. The heat is rising to his face, and there is no doubt that he is sporting a splotchy blush across his cheeks now. Adam, eyes fixed on Ronan’s, huffs a soft laugh through his nose.

“How about you lose the jacket?”

And Ronan does, despite the fact that this means leaning back to sit on his heels and not pressing Adam up against the wall for a few short moments. It is worth it, after all, when Ronan notices the stare Adam grazes his shoulders and arms with as they slip out of the dark leather.

“You know how it works, Parrish,” he says, nodding his head at Adam. “An eye for an eye.”

Adam cocks his head slightly, almost rolling it in a stretch. Neck exposed. _Flirting_. “I’m not wearing a jacket.” Ronan scoffs.

“Next best thing, then,” he says, and tugs at the hem of Adam’s shirt. Even though Adam rolls his eyes, it does not take long until the garment is thrown across the small studio apartment without a care as to where it would land.

Just for a moment, Ronan’s eyes wander over the smooth planes of Adam’s chest and down his abdomen where a trail of soft blond hair disappears beneath the waistband of his jeans. Ronan leans forward again. Far enough that he can feel Adam’s warm breath ghosting over his lips, but not close enough to meet him in a kiss.

Ronan feels daring, then, and lets his fingertips wander up Adam’s arm, from the inside of his wrist to the crook of his elbow, tracing and skipping and tickling. Catching Adam off guard in a gently pleasurable gesture is one of Ronan’s favourite activities; hence, his fingers jump from Adam’s elbow to his ribs and enjoys the sound of Adam’s gasp, open-mouthed and sharp in surprise.

“ _Ro_ ,“ Adam heaves. Ronan wonders if the shortening of his name was intentional or simply born out of Adam’s breathlessness. Before he has a chance to dwell on this thought, a burst of laughter bubbles out of Adam’s mouth. His hands find Ronan’s wrist. “Stop.”

Ronan stops tickling, but keeps his hand firmly on Adam’s torso, rubbing circles in the space just above his hip. His heart has started beating inexplicably fast.

“I didn’t know we were doing nicknames,” Ronan says, unable to restrain himself, and Adam frowns at him. He pushes at Ronan’s shoulder until he moves backwards, climbs over and past him and manoeuvres Ronan into the same position he himself just left.

Adam does not say anything, just pokes at Ronan’s knee until he gets the hint and stretches his legs out flat. “Nicknames?” Adam asks, nonchalantly, moving to straddle Ronan’s thighs.

“What did you just call me?” Ronan asks, cocking at eyebrow at Adam, who is looking at him intently, panting slightly. The urge to pinch and prod and caress Adam’s skin wells overwhelmingly inside of him.

“ _Ronan_ ,” Adam supplies, like a true wise-ass. A grin to match appears on his face, and he slips a hand under Ronan’s shirt, lifting until the fabric bunches uncomfortably at his arm pits. Ronan does not move, instead he puts his hands on Adam once more.

“No, you didn’t,” he says, lightly tickling his fingers up Adam’s sides. “You said something else.”

Adam shudders, then laughs. “Stop it.” He takes a hold of Ronan’s wandering hands. “I said _Ronan_.” Grinning down at him, Adam presses their palms together, pushing until his own arms are stretched out most of the way.

“Don’t gaslight your boyfriend, Parrish,” Ronan says. With a smirk, he interlaces their fingers, marvelling at how his own fit so perfectly into the spaces between Adam’s: one soft and sturdy digit between each long and calloused one. For a moment, Ronan allows himself to loosen the lid on his desires and imagines Adam’s hands on his skin, exploring and caressing.

“Don’t be a dick, Lynch.”

Before Ronan can even open his mouth in order to utter the dirty remark he was about to provide, Adam interrupts him. “Don’t you dare,” he says, a tone of playful warning in his voice.

“Not my fault if you can’t think of a better comeback.”

Adam rolls his eyes and Ronan relaxes his arms, letting Adam pin his wrists to the wall behind him. “Shut up,” he mutters, mouth suddenly very close to Ronan’s. Ronan juts his head forward, rubbing his nose against Adam’s. Through pale lashes, Adam looks at him in defiance.

“Make me.”

And Adam does.

 

After, they lie tangled up in each other, sweaty despite the chill wafting through the open window. With a sigh, Ronan pushes himself off the mattress just enough to close it before dropping back down next to Adam. For a moment, Ronan feels a swirl of Catholic shame knocking at the back of his mind, but it dissipates before he has a chance to dwell on it.

Ronan presses an open-mouthed, lingering kiss into the crook of Adam’s neck, tasting salt and fragrant soap. The vibrations of Adam’s answering hum carry through skin and past sinews, tingling at Ronan’s lips. It’s a funny sensation, one that makes Ronan smile toothily and place a series of further kisses onto Adam’s elegant neck. One of these days, Ronan’s blissed-out heart might stop swelling to double its size in their afterglow, but today is not that day. He wants to stay right here, Adam’s arm wrapped around his shoulders and Ronan’s own around his waist and pulling him closer.

Ronan wonders how long he has until they part again, wonders if they will maybe just fall asleep like this. He pulls back slightly to admire the shadows on Adam’s face and how they accentuate his edged features.

“What is it about nicknames, anyway?” Adam asks after a while. He has been tracing his fingers up and down Ronan’s arm, but has now stopped to look at him.

“I don’t know,” Ronan confesses. Truth is, though, that he likes the idea of carrying a name that only Adam calls him.

 “You’re _Kerah_ ,” Adam points out, mimicking Opal’s shrill voice.

“You’re not allowed to call me that.”

“Why not?”

Adam wrestles himself out of Ronan’s grip and turns to face him. The mattress is small, almost too small for two long-limbed boys like them, and, thus, Adam’s elbow hits his makeshift nightstand, causing the lamp on it to wobble slightly. Suddenly, Ronan is confronted with a haloing glow illuminating the edges of Adam’s form, his face soaked in shadow. Involuntarily, his breath catches in his throat. Adam hisses, and reaches behind himself to steady the lamp.

“Cause you have to make up your own, asshole.”

Adam wraps his arm around Ronan again, scoots closer until their chests are pressed against each other. He tucks his head into the crook of Ronan’s neck, burrows his nose into the sensitive patch of skin and says, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Ronan asks, bemused that Adam has given up their battle of wits so soon. He shifts slightly to accommodate both his arms to wrap around his boyfriend, cocooning him in his embrace.

“I have to think about it,” he hears Adam murmur against his skin.

“Okay,” Ronan replies and tightens his hold ever so slightly.

 

The next morning, Ronan wakes to the sound of Adam chuckling softly beside him. Their heads are both on the same pillow, although it seems Ronan has turned to his other side during the night and is now facing the consequences. Adam’s chest is plastered against his back, his knee lodged between Ronan’s, his nose grazing the back of Ronan’s neck. And he is trembling with laughter at ass o’clock in the morning.

“You know, I’ve had nightmares of you laughing at me when I’m naked.” His voice is hoarse, and he is suddenly hyperaware of how parched his throat feels, but he powers through for the sake of delivering his snarky remark. Adam’s chuckle turns into a snort.

“Never thought you’d actually do it,” Ronan grumbles. Warm lips press into the cool skin on his shoulder. “What’s so fucking funny?”

Adam huffs, his hot breath hitting Ronan in the back of the neck.

“ _Ronana Banana_.”

Ronan is not sure whether he should get up and leave without another word, throw a tantrum, or turn around and kiss Adam until he stops laughing. Maybe all of the above. He lays still for a second, contemplating. Adam’s chest is trembling against his back.

“I’m gonna –,” Ronan starts, but truth is he does not know what he is going to do. Instinctively, he turns around, pushes Adam onto his back, leans over his stupid grinning face.

“No.”

“No?”

Ronan remains quiet. Adam, straining, lifts his head off the pillow and moves in for a kiss. Ronan pulls back. Adam pouts.

“Aw, come on. It’s cute!”

“Shut the _fuck_ up.”

Adam cackles. “You’re the one who wanted a nickname so badly. Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Did you sleep even a wink last night? How long did it take you to come up with this?”

Adam loops his arms around Ronan’s neck. “Thought of it just now before you woke up.”

Ronan scoffs, but kisses him anyway.

“ _Ro_?”

Ronan’s heart takes a leap. He rolls his eyes as hard as he can muster trying to look unaffected.

He tells Adam to shut up, but there is no hiding the blush that spreads on his face. When Adam purses his lips this time, Ronan leans down and kisses him right away. “Say it again,” he mumbles against Adam’s lips. It’s easier when they’re too close, too preoccupied to make eye contact without involuntarily going cross-eyed.        

“ _Ro_.”

Another kiss. Adam snickers quietly, which Ronan finds ridiculous.

Ridiculous enough to laugh, too.

“What?” he asks, pulling back slightly to get a proper look at Adam’s crinkled early morning face.

“Nothing. You’re just so fucking dramatic.”

“Zip it, Parrish.”

“I thought the rule was to come up with our own.”

Ronan _zips_ _it_ for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Might mess around and write a Part II to this thing some day.
> 
> I'm dead curious to see if any of you can come up with more ridiculous nicknames for Ronan. Please, _please_ leave a comment and tell me if you have any in mind. 
> 
> If you liked this fic, you can [reblog it on tumblr](https://lesbianparrish.tumblr.com/post/184500163890/left-your-taste-in-my-mouth-all-your-words-in-my).
> 
>  
> 
> x


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